No Man Is an Island
by LemondropDead
Summary: Slade-centric oneshots on Lian Yu.
1. Things Left Unsaid

A/N: This is a series of Slade-centric one shots, mostly based on the island and the relationships between Ollie, Shado, and Slade. Not necessarily in linear order, probably a mix of fluff and angst and random stuff as I wait for the next Arrow episode to come out. Basically, Slade's my favorite character on the show and because barely anyone writes about him, I'm going to try to fill that gap myself. :D

Critiques and comments welcome!

Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, y'all.

-LdD

**Things Left Unsaid**

Oliver misses Laurel, Slade feels something that he always tries to avoid feeling.

The stupid kid is looking at that picture again. The photo of that smiling brunette, pretty enough, although watermarked and faded. Faded in more ways than one – Slade can tell by the way Oliver looks at it that memory is starting to fade along with the once-glossy print. Oliver clings to that picture; he looks at it whenever Slade leaves to hunt or Slade and Shado are sparring. And sometimes, late at night when everyone's pretending to sleep, Oliver leaves the plane, picture in hand.

Now he's pacing up and down the wrecked shell of the plane, picture in hand. The sound of his footsteps is quiet but constant; he weaves in and out of Slade's peripheral vision in a way that is fast becoming profoundly irritating, and all the while, he traces the outline of the brunette's face.

"You're going to wear a hole in that thing," Slade says. He's stretched out, feet kicked up and eyes half-closed. Armor off, swords to the side, he's a bit drowsy but with the kid fidgeting and fretting, it's impossible to nap.

"Whatever."

"Don't you whatever me," he growls. "Either settle down so I can sleep, or make yourself useful."

"Fine." Oliver stops pacing and sits down, frowning into empty air. The picture rests in his hands but he stares past it.

Quiet, finally.

Slade lets his eyes slide another fraction of an inch closed; he lays limp and lets the tension drain from his muscles. A feat which, for the somewhat (scratch that, _extremely_) paranoid Australian Secret Intelligence Service agent, is something of a marvel.

No sound but the wind stirring the trees, an occasional bird call. No distracting movements that keep Slade's well-trained eyes from closing. No stupid angsty kid being stupid and angsty—

Until Oliver sighs loudly and starts pacing again.

"For the love of—!"

Slade jumps up, starts towards the kid. Oh, the brat is going to sit down and be quiet if he has to tie him up in order for it to happen—

"Slade, Oliver! I'm back!"

Oliver's eyes flicker to Shado as she enters the plane, bow in hand. Swearing under his breath, Slade plops back down again and points forcibly at Oliver.

"Next time," he growls to Shado, "you're taking him with you when I'm trying to sleep."

Looking back and forth between the two men, she sets down the bow and sighs. "You two can't get along together for a few hours – how did you survive before I came along?"

Slade mutters something; Oliver shrugs and edges closer towards Shado.

"_Why_ were you two even fighting?" she asks.

"He's a sulky, obnoxious brat—"

"He's a grouchy, paranoid old—"

"Stop. Just stop already." She rolls her eyes and unstrings the bow, leaning it against the side of the plane. "You're painful to listen to. Can't get along for a few hours – crazy men."

"He started it," Oliver says, sitting down in a corner. Flashing a glare at Slade, who just growls something unintelligible in return, he pulls the photo out of his pocket again.

Shado heaves a sigh before walking over to Slade and nudging him in the ribs with the toe of her boot.

"Spar with me?" she asks.

"Fine," he says, joints popping as he pulls himself up with a groan. "Since my nap appears to be over."

Shado smiles and, before he's quite ready, throws a punch. Sidestepping it, he retaliates with a kick towards her knees, forcing her to leap backwards out of the way. They circle each other, Shado with a teasing smile. When she tries for another punch, he catches her first but she kicks out, leg arcing high, and he's forced to let her go or suffer a broken nose. Oliver watches from the corner, the photo still in his hand.

They fight for a few minutes until Shado gets the better of Slade and he finds himself on the ground, a hidden knife pressed against his ribs. With a grin, Shado climbs off him and, stowing the knife, pulls him up.

"Shouldn't have showed you that trick," he grumbles.

"I'm glad you did." Shado glances over at Oliver and then back at Slade

He shrugs – if the kid's sulking again, it's not his problem. Besides, at least Oliver isn't _whining _at the moment.

"Come on," Shado says, plucking the photo from Oliver's hands and setting it aside. "Your turn."

"Give it back, Shado."

"No."

Slade sighs – he can already guess where this is going.

"Please?" Oliver says, standing up. He towers over Shado by several inches but still manages to look like a puppy next to her.

"Fight me."

Slade smirks, slouching against a crate to watch the confrontation. _Called it._

Oliver swings his first halfheartedly; Shado catches it and twists until the kid yelps, dropping to his knees as she wrenches his shoulder a little.

"How are you going to survive this island if you do not fight?" she says, releasing him. "Daydreaming all the time – that picture will get you killed. See how easily I took her away from you?"

She gestures at the picture; the kid glowers at her.

"You need the will to live, Oliver, not the will to lay about dreaming," she says.

"She's my _reason_ to live!"

"And if you're distracted, she will be the reason you die." Shado's eyes are cold and dark; for a brief moment she looks at Oliver the way an assassin would. "So get up and fight me."

"I can't fight."

"Can't only means won't."

"Then I won't."

"Why?"

"I don't want to turn into someone – _something_ – that Laurelwon't recognize." He looks up at her, a plea in his eyes. "I just want to go home."

A moment of stillness.

From his spot by the crate, Slade clears his throat. "You're not the only one who misses someone, you know."

"I know."

"Yeah," Slade growls, "I know you know. But Shado and I – we're not _whining_ about it. So stop."

The ASIS agent and the ex-playboy glare at each other for a long moment. Neither one speaks or moves; they glare at each other, tension rising, until—

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Oliver repeats. He glances around at Shado, then back at Slade. "I… I just miss Laurel."

"It's okay."

Another long silence, in which the three refuse to look at each other.

And then Oliver coughs.

"So," he says uncertainly, "Who do you guys miss?"

Slade just glares at the wall.

Opening her mouth, Shado pauses, and then offers Oliver a faint smile. "My mother… I miss her the most. But my father…" She pauses again. "Even though he is here with us, on the island, I miss him as well."

Oliver and Shado look at Slade, who quickly focuses on something else. A patch of the wrecked plane, a crate, the bow in the corner – anything other than their questioning gazes, Oliver's stupid question. He forces a smile, something cruel and biting and unnatural, but he can't hold it.

When he closes his eyes, Slade can't remember his wife's face, much less his son's. Can't remember the sound of their voices (the voices are always the first to go, he's heard), can't remember how he used to joke around before the island (before the constant missions, he reminds himself), can't remember anything but two blonde blurs. How the child (_my_ child, he reminds himself, that's _my_ kid, that's _Joe!_) got his mother's light blonde hair and not Slade's dark features is a mystery. Try as he might, the details evade his grasp – faces, laughter, all worn and gone to pieces.

_Stop_, he tells himself. _Stop this now. _

He looks at Oliver and Shado, a ghostly shadow of a smile crosses his face. "I… I miss my…"

The words stick in his throat like shards of glass, he struggles for a minute with the roiling emotions, the fear of falling apart, and then smiles again.

"Just stuff," he says lamely, lying through a tourniquet of gritted teeth and clenched fists. "I… I just miss…"

And then he laughs. He can't speak, he just laughs that harsh, mocking laugh of his for a minute or two, and Oliver and Shado (how young they look right now, even Shado, they're just _kids_) stare at him. At last, he shakes his head, he looks back at them with a twisted smile.

"Some things are easier left unsaid."


	2. Wishes and Horses

A/N: Drabble. Not really sure where it came from, but I think I like where it went.

* * *

**Wishes and Horses**

They're sitting on a ridge overlooking Fyers' camp, watching the men in black balaclavas mill about down below. Boring, ordinary surveillance, just Slade and Oliver, and since they're well concealed behind some bushes, a skirmish is unlikely. Just another stakeout – well, that's something Slade didn't expect to have to do on a supposedly deserted island, on what was supposed to be a five day mission.

Some things never change. SNAFU. Whatever.

"You know, I used to have a horse," Ollie says, glancing sideways at Slade. "Back in Starling City."

"You had a _horse_ in the middle of a city?" Slade raises his eyebrows at Oliver.

The kid shrugs. "Well, not right in the city. Like, outside. I lived outside the city."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm bored. This stakeout is boring."

"Stakeouts are supposed to be boring," Slade growls. "You ought to be _glad_ it's boring; the alternative could be much more deadly."

Oliver shrugs, picking a leaf off one of the bushes only to stare at it idly and then drop it. "Well, I just wanted to talk…"

"You talk too much."

"Yeah, well, you barely talk at all."

"That's not true." Slade crosses his arms. "I talk plenty."

"Not about personal stuff," Ollie counters.

"That's because it's _personal_."

"I talk about personal stuff."

"Yes, and sometimes I wish you'd just shut up about your personal stuff already," Slade growls.

"Whatever. You know, when we get off this stupid island—"

"Quiet!" Slade claps his hand over Oliver's mouth, looking around. Removing it slowly, he widens his eyes and looks at Oliver. "Shush… did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Oliver whispers, inching further back into the bush.

Slade raises a finger to his lips and crawls a few feet away, glancing all around. And then his eyes widen, he whirls around.

"Go, kid, they've found us!"

Oliver tries to run but gets stuck in the bush, clothing tangled as he panics. He struggles against the thorns, thrashing around for Slade to help…

And finds the ASIS agent sitting on the ground, laughing hysterically.

"Kid, you shoulda seen the look on you face!" He shakes his head, grinning at Oliver. "What are you looking at me like that for, can't I play a joke once in a while?"

Oliver disentangles himself from the bush, swearing as the thorns rip at his clothing. "Not funny, Slade!"

"Absolutely _hilarious_."

"No. Definitely _not_ hilarious."

Slade just laughs, still sitting on the ground while Oliver glares at him. Rolling his eyes, Ollie starts tugging the thorns from his clothing, occasionally shooting a dirty glare at the other man.

"You're crazy," Oliver snaps.

"It's not the first time you've told me that." He grins wolfishly and stands up. "We should be getting back; Shado's going to worry-"

Sudden gunshots from the woods; Slade tackles Oliver to the ground and pulls him behind the bushes, out of sight.

"We've been spotted," he says in the kid's ear, keeping him pinned behind the bushes.

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"I'm going to provide cover fire, you run, okay?" he says, rolling off the kid. "I'll catch up."

Oliver nods, jaw set in a hard line as he poises himself to run. "Okay."

"Go!"

As Slade starts firing back, Oliver bolts into the far woods. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he sees the soldiers in the camp swarming like enraged ants. Slade yells at him, hot on his heels, and Ollie almost trips but they both make it to the woods, bullets hitting the ground behind them.

"Keep running," Slade shouts, taking the lead. When Ollie trips, he grabs the kid by the shirt and hauls him up, and they keep running. Shouts from the soldiers echo the woods behind – they're not gaining, but they're not far either.

Oliver breathes heavily at Slade's side; he looks panicked and exhausted. "We've got to hide. We can't outrun them!"

"Just move!"

They run for another ten minutes until both are sweating and panting; the sounds from the soldiers have died down but Slade's not betting on safety yet. Stopping, he looks around, scanning the trees, and beckons Oliver.

"Come on, this way," he says.

The kid follows wordlessly as they wade upstream a tiny creek, tripping over boulders and scraping their hands. All the while, Slade keeps on a sharp lookout, scanning the trees for any sign of their pursuers.

"Why are we wading?" Oliver asks in a dull voice. His face is scratched, he gives Slade a pitiful look.

"Trying to throw off our scent. In case they have dogs."

"Oh."

Silence for another ten minutes, and then Slade finds what he's looking for – thick brush before a rocky outcropping. He pulls some of the brush back gingerly to reveal the opening of a dark cave. Smiling wanly, he gestures towards it.

"After you, kid."

Oliver rolls his eyes and ducks inside without a further complaint. After trying to rearrange the brambles, Slade follows inside, searching his pockets for the small waterproof flashlight he _knows_ he had upon arriving on Lian Yu. He swears when he comes up empty.

"You wouldn't happen to have a flashlight on you, per chance?" he asks Oliver sarcastically.

"Sorry, man, I lost it along with my GPS and my lifetime supply of Wonka chocolate bars. You know, when my boat went down."

"Looks we're going to be stuck here for a while without any light then."

There's silence for a few minutes, in which both men stew over the circumstances of the day – a stupid prank and bad luck. For a moment, Slade considers apologizing. Although it's not entirely his fault – he didn't put a patrol in the forest, that was Fyers, thank you very much – he _did_ play the prank that led to a lot of unnecessary noise, and them being seen. _Stupid,_ he thinks to himself, _stupid and unprofessional. What were you thinking? _

Truth of the matter is that it's hard to think 100% rationally or professionally anymore, now that he's got Shado and the kid. Before them, when he was alone or with Yao Fei or Billy (_well, let's not think about that traitor right now,_ he decides, _I've got enough problems as it stands_) , it was so easy to prioritize because he knew for sure that his partner could be counted on. Not just that, but he didn't have to worry about anyone's feelings – during the mission, survival and the objective came first. Now he's got to worry about morale – Shado can handle herself, but the kid… the kid needs to stay positive or he's just going to be a liability.

Of course, there's that small part of Slade which has started to rebel – started to place value on the kid as more than just a weapon or a distraction, started to care a little bit about him.

Oliver sighs in the dark. "It's kind of creepy in here. I really wish we had a light."

"Well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride." Slade groans as he slouches against the wall of the cave, trying to get comfortable. "My gram used to say that."

"You know," Oliver says suddenly. "If we had horses, we could just ride back to the plane. No one would ever catch us." 

Well there you go, trust the kid to say something just that stupid.

"When I was fifteen, my dad sent me to this camp over the summer where I learned to ride," Oliver continues. "My friends and I snuck out one night and some of the consolers caught us in the woods."

"Is this going where I think it is?"

Oliver ignores Slade. "But we had our horses and we just rode away – they couldn't catch us on foot."

"Like I said before…"

"Yeah, yeah, if wishes were horses." From the sound of the kid's voice, Slade can tell that Oliver is rolling his eyes. "Somehow, Slade, I don't think you're the kind of guy who likes wishes."

"I don't like horses much either."

"Really?"

Slade laughs. "You wanted personal stuff, right?"

"You're scared of horses?" Oliver sounds incredulous.

"Not scared, per say," Slade says defensively. "I just don't like 'em."

A snort from Oliver. "Slade's scared of horses – just wait 'til I tell Shado."

"Shut up," he tells the kid, aiming a swat at his head. He misses in the dark, although admittedly he's not really trying. "I'm not scared of much and I'm certainly not scared of a bunch of bloody herbivores, you hear?"

Oliver snickers again. "Okay, whatever you say."

Behind the protective mask of darkness and gruff mannerisms, Slade smiles.


End file.
